A/N: I apologize, profusely, for the delay in this chapter. I was helping someone with finals for school (critiquing papers and whatnot) and that took quite a lot of time! So, here's an extra long chapter. Sort of as compensation?
I truly am sorry.
And I really do hope this chapter makes sense, flows, and doesn't leave you utterly confused and annoyed. I've speculated about this big mess for awhile now and I'm always so nervous about posting these chapters.
I sound like a broken record. Ugh. Anyway. I hope, TRULY, that you like the chapter. It's been intense writing for awhile.
And can I just give a big thank you to all you lovely people for your reviews, follows, favs, etc.? You are all so remarkably kind and amazing and I appreciate all of you.
Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.-J.R.R. Tolkien
Chapter 11:
*WARNING*: Depictions of violence in this chapter (not sure HOW violent they are but I'm giving you warning now.)
The white wizard paced.
Arms wrapped around himself, he paced, mind calculating, strategizing.
And ever-present was the hissing hum.
In his mind's eye he could see the dark tower growing ever taller, and with it, a great eye, lidless, wreathed in flame.
A glrorious sight indeed.
Another deep, painful hiss of words filled his mind.
Yes, yes he understood.
A loud crash of the door against the wall alerted the wizard that someone was with him.
The soft, awkward shuffling of feet against stone forced the white wizard's attention towards the skulking, gangly orc trudging towards him.
"What news from Mordor, my Lord?" There was obvious hesitancy in the creature's gaze.
'Good' thought Saruman, preening at his power, even among the quivering ranks of these lesser messengers.
"What does the great eye command?"
A small smile worked its way onto Saruman's face.
"We have work to do," He murmured, "Gandalf thinks that he can see protection with the Riddermark, but he will soon find that his efforts will be for naught."
The wizard strode towards the doorway, the orc following in his wake.
'Build me an army worthy of Mordor,' the voice had commanded him, 'Bring me the halfling. Destory the opposition. Spread my darkness throughout the lands.'
That had been the command.
"But my Lord," The orc hesitated.
Saruman narrowed his eyes, turning in the hall to face the hunched creature.
The orc's eyes were wide, questioning, as he peered up to the white wizard.
"How are we to attack this company when they are so strongly protected? How are we to get to the Halfling with so little resources? You've sent most of our forces towards the mountain in the east. We simply do not have the means to drive the men of Rohan back to get to the hobbit."
The smirk returned to Saruman's face.
"The Forest of Fangorn lies on our doorstep," his words were sure as they fell from his lips, "We have all the resources we'll need, if we but stretch forth our hand and take it. We stoke the fires day and night. Build the masses. Legions of Orcs travelling. There will be no dawn for men in two day's time"
The smile grew.
"But until then I will send an enemy that will break the grey wizard."
A dark glee was growing in Saruman's mind, black tendrils of malice cascading through his senses, wrapping themselves around every thought and notion.
"There are far older things on this earth that orcs and men, darker magic, more powerful than even the great warriors within the Rohirrim, more powerful than Gandalf the Grey.
He had warned Gandalf, warned him that the only way to survive would be to follow the Dark Lord.
And now—Saruman peered over through his window and down upon the billow smoke of the furnaces—now revenge would be most delightful. Gandalf would suffer.
They all would.
"I will break him."
"Duck!"
Gandalf's command was directed towards Ori, who stood awkwardly with his war hammer, eyes darting to and fro, unsure of where to direct his attacks.
Gandalf could see that, while the dwarf was certainly brave, he seemed to lack experience on the battlefield. The wizard wondered, very much, how the dwarf managed to thwart the enemy during the battle on the slopes of Erebor.
So distracted was he, by the swarm of orcs surrounding him, that Ori hadn't seen the orc's axe coming after him.
But he DID hear Gandalf's command, thankfully, and ducked as the serrated blade sailed overhead, taking a few strands of hair off the ginger dwarf's head.
With a startled cry, Ori brought his hammer upwards, and met the orc's arms with his blow, sending the creature howling and spinning backwards.
Legolas was there, then, with a well-placed arrow piercing the orc's chest, halting any further movements by the gangly, greenish creature.
With a deft swing, Gandalf met another orc with his staff and then, bringing his sword upwards, connected the black with the soft flesh of the creature's abdomen.
The wizard would have been more pleased with himself had he felt that his efforts were doing any good.
As it stood though?
They were severely outnumbered. Orcs surrounded their small group on every side. Aragorn and Denethor were battling several orcs, their weapons sailing through the air. Gimli, the spry young dwarf that he was, skirted around the two men, dodging blows directed towards his companions, and hacking at the orc's knees with his long, double edged axe.
Dwalin and Fili and Kili were much the same. The young archer held his bow steady, firing arrow after arrow, each one connecting with the arms, chests, necks, of the enemy, felling the oncoming tyrants.
Bofur and Ori and Legolas weren't faring much better with their numbers. Axes connected with orc shoulders, knees and backs, sending the enemy hurtling to the ground.
But no matter how many they seemed to fell, there were three others charging in their wake, a seemingly never ending stream of distorted faces and snapping teeth.
Gandalf could feel his patience waning, his annoyance and frustration rising.
His hatred for Saruman growing.
They needed a solution.
It wasn't enough to simply cut off the appendages of the enemy, to kill the ants one by one as they were now.
No, they needed a far more effective means of attack, kill the orcs at their source.
With a low growl, the wizard brought his staff downwards, sending a shockwave through the ground, ruffling dust into the air, shaking the foundations of the earth that they stood upon.
It threw many of the orcs off balance, sending their weapons slipping from their fingers.
Which gave the company of men and elves and dwarves a slight advantage.
But Gandalf knew it wouldn't last for long. Already he could see more orcs on the horizon.
But then he spied something else as well.
Something brilliantly light, even against the falling snow.
A low rumble shook through the earth again. This time, though, not by Gandalf's hand.
The low murmur of commands filled his ear.
Familiar commands in a familiar tongue.
The earth rumbled again as the figure, atop a horse charged forward, his own sword drawn.
Orcs began to move towards them in haste.
But, not to attack.
No.
No, they were running. For as the figure—Glorfindel Gandalf's eyes supplied—crested the hill, the rumbling of the earth grew more wild.
And then, to the wizard's utter relief, he understood.
Cresting the hill after the elf were dozens of horses and riders, with the familiar royal plumage on their helmets.
The Rohirrim.
With a mighty cry, the horse masters charged, urging their steeds faster, towards the orcs and the company members, swords and bows at the ready.
The orcs let out a collective roar of panic as they trudged as fast as their legs could carry them, away from their enemy. Those on wargs had abandoned their comrades on foot, favoring to spare their own lives rather than complete their mission.
Gandalf let out an agreeable hum as he brought his sword forwards, connecting with a scurrying orc's shoulder, felling the startled creature.
"Yes," the wizard nodded his head, "that'll do nicely."
He caught Glorfindel's eye as the elf charged by.
Yes, indeed, it would do for now.
He watched her silently for some time, long after the hoof beats had dissipated, the harsh cries that had filled the air. He noted the way she tucked her legs close to her body, her tender arm resting atop her knees, her other arm wrapped up and around her, still aching, shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there, hidden beneath the tattered remnants of cloth he'd wound around her appendage.
Thorin's own fingers twitched.
She had a faraway gaze in her eyes as she stared into the darkness of the cave.
At first, he'd tried to talk to her more, comfort her in some way, to help her in some way.
He'd tried to coax her into giving his grandfather's ring back.
That had proved a fruitless effort.
He received a kittenish glare in answer to his request.
"Not if the ground were to threaten to swallow me whole," She'd muttered stubbornly, her face scrunched in annoyance.
Of course, that had rankled Thorin's patience.
Though he did admit she looked fetching when annoyed.
But, did this hobbit not understand that he wanted to protect her?
And of course the fact that she was even going on this bizarre quest to begin with was enough for Thorin to question Lyla's level of sheer ineptitude.
Part of him wanted to cart her off back to the mountain.
Part of him wanted to shake her until she gained some sense.
Part of him wanted to kiss her.
Thorin did none of those things though. Instead, he cast another sidelong glance towards the hobbit. Her damp hair curled about her head in a haphazard way, the faintest of light glinting against the golden color.
It didn't escape the dwarf's notice that there was a long, dark bruise forming on her cheek from where she'd been struck. Nor did he overlook the small cut beneath her eye.
What bothered him most, though, was the pale, almost translucent color of her left hand and the faintest appearance of those angry purple tendrils again on her wrist and fingers.
Thorin's gaze was then drawn back towards the hobbit's face. Lyla's nose wrinkled for a moment as she narrowed her eyes in thought, her lips puckering with distaste.
Thorin smiled wryly at her expression.
Mahal, he wanted to know what she was thinking.
But, he'd respect her wish for silence.
Durin, help him, he understood. Or, rather, he was growing to understand.
She'd been alone for a long time. And it would take a while, yet, for her to trust anyone with her innermost thoughts, thoughts she was so used to keeping to herself.
He was much the same way, after all.
Thorin sighed, he'd have to content himself with silence.
The silence was maddening for Lyla.
Though, she couldn't bring herself to speak.
Part of her reveled, in the escape from niceties, from actively pursuing a conversation.
Part of her longed to utter every thought that plagued her, to ease Thorin's agitation and to set her own mind at ease.
Aule, she wanted someone to help her with this burden, to set things in perspective for her, because she simply could not do so anymore. Everything was so convoluted and confusing, so distorted.
And it terrified her.
For so long she'd been content to silence her thoughts. After her dear father and mother and darling Bilbo, she'd never had cause to talk to others about her innermost worries and contemplations.
And yet, now, she very much wanted to appeal to Thorin's protective nature, beg him to help her.
And THAT was most unlike her.
Being near Thorin Oakenshield for so long, travelling to Erebor, facing a dragon, all of it had picked apart her nature, weakened her, made her depend more on others than she thought possible.
But, the more resolute part, the more stubborn part of her would not do so. Not now anyway.
She had to protect him, to protect the others.
'My task' the admitted resignedly, 'My own.'
She held back a sigh.
The ring came to her, a task that she had to complete. And it was unfair of her to burden others with her worries. It would do no good to speak of these things.
'What would it matter?' A familiar voice hummed softly in her mind.
Her mother's voice.
'He cares for you. He wants to protect you. You can trust him.'
Trust?
'He is a liar. He will betray you,' A hiss filled her mind, 'You cannot trust anyone.'
Lyla cringed, the beginnings of a headache pulsing across her temple.
She ran her hand across her tender shoulder again, feeling the soft fabric that wrapped against her aching muscles protectively.
Thorin had secured her arm.
And that thought gave Lyla pause.
'Fool.'
She shook her head again and focused her attention elsewhere, actively ignoring the warring thoughts in her mind.
She laid her attention back on Thorin, studying his outline in the dim light.
Lyla cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf, watching how he hunched, shuffling his feet, his long, wavy hair, tousled and rolling across his shoulders as he steepled his fingers together as he stared towards the doorway, his eyes narrowed in deep thought.
Beneath his beard, Lyla could see the way the dwarf frowned.
He looked that way whenever he was worried.
Lyla's hand twitched against her shoulder and she straightened with a wince.
'There is no king under the mountain, nor will there ever be. You've doomed him.'
Lyla reached for Thorin's hand. Her fingers tingled as his warm grasp encircled her own, his thumb running over her wrist lightly.
'He will perish. And you will be to blame.'
Lyla squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
No.
'Don't think like that. Don't even consider it.'
She caught Thorin's eye and smiled softly before returning her gaze towards the small stream of light that broke through the darkened cave.
The snow turned to rain when Thorin peeked his head out of the small cave, his ears straining to hear something, anything out of the ordinary.
Rain splashed his nose as he scanned the terrain.
But, he jerked backwards as he heard the soft whinny of a horse coming from his right.
He saw a flash of pale gold in the growing dark.
Instantly he straightened.
"Master Oakenshield."
Glorfindel's soft remark filtered through darkness towards his ears as the elf slowly cantered forward, eyes growing brighter the closer her came.
The elf sat atop his dappled grey horse, another brown mare—Thorin's hrose from before—following behind him
Thorin was on his feet, his muscles protesting the sudden movements as he pushed his way out of the cave, casting a quick glance backwards towards the dozing hobbit.
"Master Oakenshield," Glorfindel remarked again, "We must go. The enemy will not stay ignorant forever."
Thorin's eyes narrowed slightly.
"How did you get past the orcs? And how did you find us?" He queried, "There was no way you could have avoided them. And if they were ignorant of our location…" he trailed off.
Glorfindel smiled softly. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. And luck, it would appear, seems to be on your side and mine. But that particular good fortune will do no good for us here and now. You cannot hide forever. The enemy moves. Their numbers are growing. You must move and move quickly."
Thorin cast a glance around. "Where are the others? Did you see them?"
Glorfindel nodded once. "I have. They make their camp not far from here, deep within the hills, away from known paths. They skirt the borders of the land. Legolas and Estel have gone on ahead to alert Thingol of our arrival, to seek aid from the Rohirrim."
Thorin's gaze drifted back towards the small cave, where Lyla still slept.
For a moment he let a sense of relief wash over him, relax his muscles, ease the worry in his heart.
They were close.
"How far until we reach the borders of Rohan?"
Lyla jerked as she came back to wakefulness.
When had she fallen asleep?
"Givashel?" Thorin's voice was gentle, almost tender, as he jostled her softly, "You must rise."
The hobbit blinked blearily for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.
"We are leaving?" Her words were laced with exhaustion. She swallowed a few time to clear the thick feeling in her throat.
"Glorfindel is here," Thorin replied calmly, securing Lyla's shoulder a bit tighter, "And the enemy is moving. We have to go now."
That woke Lyla up more fully.
With careful movements, the hobbit rose to her feet, Thorin's hold on her arm never leaving as he guided them from their cave.
There, silhouetted against the darkness, atop his fair horse, was Glorfindel, golden hair glistening in the dim light of the darkening sky.
He smiled softly down at Lyla.
"Ah, hiril vuin. My lady, it is good to see you." The elf's eyes drifted towards Lyla's shoulder, and then swept over her face, "Though I'd hoped you'd have fared better."
Thorin gave an annoyed grunt, though remained silent thereafter, sending a hard look towards the elf.
Lyla hid her own smirk.
Glorfindel smiled again, towards the hobbit, and extended his hand to help her onto the horse.
"Now wait a minute!" Thorin remarked, stepping forward, "She's not going anywhere without me."
Glorfindel's grin only widened as he stepped down from the horse, and extended his hand again towards Lyla.
"I had no intention of sending her anywhere without you, Master Oakenshield. You have my word on that."
The golden-haired elf looked towards the dwarf king, his gaze hard.
"We need to scout the terrain before we make any movements," he gestured his head towards the outcropping, eyes locking again with Thorin's.
Lyla's eyes narrowed.
Something seemed…
Off.
Thorin, too, narrowed his eyes, but hastily maneuvered towards the hill, his footfalls as silent as he could make them.
When he was out of earshot, the elf grabbed Lyla's wrist.
Glorfindel's eyes bore into the hobbit's, the brilliant blue of the elf's, blazing with an intensity that set Lyla's heart ill at ease.
"Fear not against me," He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I do not wish to harm you. I only wish to warn you."
"I…I don't understand."
Lyla was confused.
The elf only nodded his head. "But you do. In your heart you know what will come to pass. You can feel it, if the expression on your face is anything to go by."
Glorfindel's grip tightened on Lyla's wrist momentarily. "He will try to take the ring. You know of whom I speak. And you know that hope in secrecy will not be maintained when so many follow the path towards Mordor."
Realization rammed Lyla's chest, making it difficult to breathe.
She swallowed back the emotions that were choking her throat.
"How…?"
The elf quickly released Lyla's arm and gave a small, tired smile.
"I am old," He remarked, "And have seen many things, dear Shireling, many things that have come to pass," The elf's gaze grew hard, "and many things yet to be."
Glorfindel looked somewhat distressed. His eyes had darkened.
"Dark days lie ahead, dear one. You know what will happen if company remains together," He murmured softly. "It will lead to ruin. All will fall should you continue. You know what you will have to do."
Lyla cast a glance towards Thorin's silhouette as he sat crouched, peering over the rock face. An ache filled her heart.
"Yes," she spoke before she could stop herself. "I know what I must do. It's just…" she caught Glorfindel's eye again, "I'm afraid to do it." Thorin was looking at her now. She spied him from the corner of her eye. Lyla could see the way his gaze had turned suspicious, questioning.
"He will never forgive me. None of them will. If I—"
"Your scope is very limited, Lyla Baggins, if you believe that whispering doubt. Your friends would follow you to the very fires of Mordor, to the very end of this earth."
'Liar.'
Glorfindel brushed a wayward curl from Lyla's forehead.
"Do not give into the power of those whispers, Lyla Baggins. Do not allow the ring to bring further doubt to your mind. Trust your instincts, trust your judgment." He smiled gently, "You will know when the time is right."
"I saw them," Thorin's voice was gruff, deeper than normal, as he sauntered forward, "But they are still some distance away. A couple of leagues. But no more than that. We must make haste. Luck may yet be on our side."
The dwarf king narrowed his eyes towards Glorfindel as he stepped forward and grasped Lyla's hand, giving it a firm, yet gentle squeeze.
The elf's eyes drifted towards their hands and his smile widened, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eye.
Lyla swallowed.
That look reminded her of Gandalf when he was in a particularly jovial mood.
"Glad to hear it, Master Oakenshield," The elf remarked, "Now if you'll get situated upon your horse, we should make haste before the enemy becomes more aware of our actions."
Thorin's eyes shot a hard look towards the elf.
He pursed his lips in displeasure.
"I was to understand that you would not take her from me."
Glorfindel only smile, his eyes still twinkling in amusement.
"Indeed I did," he remarked, "But of the two of us, I am the faster rider. Should trouble arise, it would be prudent to put the ring bearer in the safest position."
Thorin snorted derisively, refusing to move from his position.
Lyla resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"If he is the faster rider," She muttered down towards Thorin, "Then it is the safest thing if I go along with Master Glorfindel."
She didn't miss the way Thorin stiffened, nor the way Glorfindel's grin grew, his blue eyes glittering like sapphires.
The dwarf turned towards Lyla, his eyes hooded and calculating.
"Givashel," He hummed softly, "I made a promise."
The hobbit nodded her head, her chest feeling tight, the weight around her neck seeming to grow.
"I know," She remarked, "But we cannot allow the ring to fall into enemy hands."
Thorin didn't realize that Lyla was doing this for HIM.
If danger did come their way, the enemy would focus more on Lyla and Glorfindel and leave Thorin alone.
She hoped.
She caught Glorfindel's eye and hastily averted her gaze.
"Come!" He commanded softly, "We must depart. The others are awaiting out arrival."
"Do you see anything? Anything at all?"
Gandalf waited patiently, eyes trained on the young archer in the tree.
"Nothing!" Kili called down, his voice laced with both concern and relief.
They'd evaded the enemy for now.
But Lyla and Thorin were still missing.
It was all very disconcerting.
"The elf said he'd return with them," Dwalin muttered, "Ye think it was wise to send him alone?"
Gandalf cast a sidelong glance at the riled dwarf, noting the way Dwalin's veins pulsed between his neck.
"I have every confidence in Glorfindel's abilities," Gandalf remarked, "So stop your fretting, master dwarf. Master Oakenshield and Lyla Baggins are perfectly safe, far safer than they would be on their own."
"What good is an elf in protecting others," Gimli muttered beneath his bushy, red beard. "Hardly any skill with a sword, those lot."
Gandalf cast a hard look towards Gimli.
"I suggest you cast aside your petty ignorance, Gimli son of Gloin," Gandalf snapped, "And grow some decorum. I imagine your mother would be most disappointed in your behavior."
Gimli had the decency to look remorseful as he cast his eyes downward, though Gandalf suspected the dwarf would return to his comments soon enough.
Gandalf gave a short nod anyway and shifted his eyes back towards Kili.
"How long do you think it will take them?" The young dwarf asked, giving the wizard a frown as he leapt from the tree, "If the enemy knows that Lyla has the ring then we need to put a great deal of distance between us and them."
"This is foolishness," Denethor cut in, his eyes were hard as he peered at Gandalf, "To rely on such a small band of riders, of horsemasters living in thatched barns with limited defenses."
The man's glance drifted towards a few members of the Rohirrim who sat atop their horses scouting the terrain as Kili had done from his treetop.
"We should never have come this way," Denethor muttered, "I say we make for the gap of Rohan. Forget Edoras. We can take the worst road to my city."
"That is foolishness," Aragorn retorted, "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard. It would be a suicide march to go that way."
Denethor's head whipped around to face Aragorn and for a moment Gandalf wondered if the young son of the steward knew to whom he was speaking.
"You were quick enough the trust the elves, the dwarves and the horse masters. Why do you shy away from the white city? What is so terrible about Gondor?"
"The weapon will be of no use to Gondor," Aragorn hissed lowly, stepping closer to Denethor, "You cannot think me blind to not see your machinations, your schemes. You mean to use the ring for the city."
Denethor gave Aragorn a hard shove backwards, "What would you know if it Estel?" He snarled, "I ask only for the strength to defend my people. Nothing more! If the ring were to go to Gondor surely—"
"I would not bring the ring within a hundred leagues of your city," Aragorn growled, leaning closer towards Denethor, "You are blinded by ambition and greed to not see the folly in your thought."
"What would a ranger know of anything? You may have had my father convinced of your nobility, but I am not so easily swayed."
"This is no mere ranger," Legolas cut in, "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."
Denthor's eyes widened, his frown deepened.
"Aragorn? You must be joking," He snorted, "This is Isildur's heir?"
"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas affirmed, "He will be king."
Denethor shot a hard look towards the elf prince.
"Gondor has no king."
He shoved past Aragorn.
"Gondor needs no king."
A long horn call resounded, the several riders cantering towards their small band.
"They have come, Mithrandir," The captain, Gamling, stated gruffly, his eyes scanning the horizon. "But we must be wary of the enemy moving towards us. Undoubtedly they have kept their spies close at hand."
The grey wizard nodded his head warily.
"Yes, I know," he remarked.
He'd certainly felt it. The stirrings of dread.
Even after all they'd gone through, he knew the worst was yet to come. A deep chill settled in his weary bones.
Old magic was at work.
He could feel it in the air.
"Lass!"
Gandalf turned his attention towards Bofur, the hatted dwarf clamoring to his feet and surging forward, towards the two horses who had followed after Gamling.
The first horse bore Glorfindel and Lyla Baggins.
Bruises smattered here cheeks, a cut rested near her eye.
And her shoulder was bandaged in a haphazard way.
Behind her—atop his own horse—sat a rather unhappy king, scowling at the back of Glorfindel's head.
Gandalf his a smile at the sight, knowing full well the scowl of the king of Erebor did nothing to accurately describe the inner turmoil and anger the dwarf felt.
"Bless my beard lass!" Bofur reached towards the hobbit, tugging her arm until Lyla slipped from the horse's saddle and into the dwarf's waiting arms, "Bless my beard I am glad you're alright."
"Aye," Dwalin remarked, striding forward, and grabbing Lyla away from Bofur's hold, "Yer a right foolish git, lass."
The warrior knocked his head gently against the hobbit's in a sign of affection.
And for the first time, in a long while, Gandalf felt a moment of peace.
Edoras was beautiful.
Lyla couldn't deny it.
Flanked, as they were, by men, the hobbit felt a sense of calm settle over her. An uneasy calm, to be certain, but calm nonetheless.
She focuses her attention on studying the countryside and the passing faces.
The landscape had turned from the high, jutting rock faces and the winding river, to a gentler open area, sparsely populated by trees and craggy rocks, bathed in hues of golden light.
The skies stretched far overhead, brilliant blue peeking through the dispersing clouds.
Lyla was thankful the snow had let up and she inhaled the heady scent of horse and grain and dirt, her thoughts drifting towards the people who watched their procession quietly. Golden haired children peeked with their wide, unassuming eyes towards them, furrowing their brows as Lyla caught their gaze, studying her peculiar features and stature.
She was certain they had never seen a hobbit before.
Though, admittedly, that was unsurprising.
"You seem rather taken with this land," Glorfindel remarked, "Though perhaps a little surprised by the number of horses about."
The hobbit nodded her head. "This place is beautiful," She amended, "But, you are right, I haven't seen so many horses. The Shire is nothing like that. We have a few mules and horses to help pull the carts, but other than that, we're content with our walking lanes."
The elf chuckled.
"Well, e make for the golden hall," Glorfindel murmured above her, his voice low enough that, Lyla was certain, only she could hear.
The elf set behind her, his grip tight against the reigns as he guided their horse towards a steep slope, where, on the side, sat a large stable.
It was the building atop the hill that really caught the hobbit's attention, however. Broad, dark beams of wood covered rose high into the sky, flanked by smaller planks of wood and mortar. Bricks of slate reinforced the corners and the framework, making the structure appear rustic, yet sturdy. Atop this large edifice, was a roof constructed of brass.
Lyla understood why it was called the Golden Hall.
"Come." Gandalf's voice was low, as he strode forward, towards the doors of the great hall, "We have much business to discuss."
The hobbit was surprised (though she really shouldn't have been) to discover that this 'business' included an audience with the king and queen and not just the diplomatic families who held sway within the kingdom.
'Of course it would be an audience with the king and queen,' Thorin whispered quietly to her as they were seated at a long table, 'They hold the most influence for their people. This danger is no mere political matter, one to waste time speculating on. The king and queen will have to act fast, determine the action they must take.'
Lyla had felt very out of place at the table amongst these diplomats (Boromir as a representative for the Steward, Thorin, king of Erebor, Legolas, a prince of Mirkwood, as well as the others). Understandably, she remained mostly silent, only speaking when addressed. And usually, those addresses were limited to inquiring after her welfare or needs.
Hunger?
Thirst?
In pain?
Nothing of remote importance.
Still, the king, Thengel, was gracious and courteous towards her, his smile was bright, eyes friendly.
Even if she did feel of little use within the discussions.
Talks of war, spies covering the sky, all manner of strange dealings creeping towards Rohan's borders.
How were they do defend themselves?
And how could Rohan best serve the company on their quest towards Mordor.
Amongst all the clamoring, debating, and discussion, there was the queen. She sat, with her golden hair plaited to the side, eyes flashing from one member of the council to another, lips quirked into a smile.
Thengel's wife, Morwen, was courteous and efficacious in her role of tending to the needs of the party assembled within her kingdom.
The perfect representation of a queen.
Lyla was appropriately impressed.
She was even more impressed, though, when the queen insisted that the hobbit accompany her to tend to her children and relax, 'away from the warring minds of men.'
That comment had coaxed a smile onto the hobbit's lips (something Lyla realized she'd not done enough of in recent days).
"Now," they were situated in the nursery, Lyla was delighted to watch the little prince and princess playing on the floor. "Master hobbit, I want to understand this journey you go on."
Lyla furrowed her brows as she turned towards the queen, watching the woman idly picking at a thread on her sleeve.
When she caught the hobbit's eye her eyes softened, "Oh tosh! Don't give me that confused glance. I know all the particulars. I'm no simpleton. Eru knows that I was sitting in that dull meeting with you and the others." She suddenly leaned forward, "Seems a little too simple, for my understanding, however." She continued, "Those men have overlooked a rather important detail in their plannings. What I mean, little hobbit, is what will this quest entail for you?"
"I don't…" Lyla's gaze dropped towards studying the queen's hem, "I'm not certain."
The queen snorted at that.
"I thought we established that I am no simpleton, Master Baggins. I know there is great peril awaiting you."
The queen lifted Lyla's chin.
"And I see the fear in your eyes. Do you hold no hope, though?"
"Of course I hold hope," Lyla remarked. "I'd not embark on this quest if I didn't hope for a good outcome, your majesty."
The queen smiled. "Morwen," She replied. "Call me Morwen. And that's not what I meant either."
Her gaze turned contemplative.
"I meant, surely you hold hope for yourself? For your return?"
That caught Lyla of guard.
"I—"
Morwen nodded.
"Ah, yes I thought not." She leaned back again, casting a soft smile towards her children, "What a ridiculous notion, too."
Her eyes were sparkling.
"You know that I am not merely woman of Rohan, do you not?"
Lyla shook her head silently, feeling a warm heat on the back of her neck. She wasn't certain where this conversation was tending.
Morwen smiled at Lyla. "Yes, a woman of Gondor am I. And as such, I'm not stranger to unsavory situations. Our white city was close to the black gates of Mordor. Even before reports of this great eye, it was a dangerous place. Orcs raided from time to time. And the nazgul…" She shuddered and then straightened, "Living in that city made or broke you. You either learned to hope or you despaired and died."
Morwen lifted her chin, eyes blazing.
"My father was killed in the war during my sixteenth year. I was an only child taking care of an ill mother when it happened. Killed in defense of the white city, against a large band of orcs. It left us destitute, it left me grieving. And as the raids increased, and more soldiers died, my hope began waning."
Lyla's heart tugged at her in pity.
Morwen's smile only grew.
"That is until I met a certain wizard who told me something rather profound. There's always hope. There's always something to hope for. And if there's hope," She grabbed Lyla's hand, "If there's hope, then there's something worth fighting for."
'You have nothing to hope for' the ring hissed in her ear, 'The world will fall, your world will collapse. And you will bring the ruin of all you claim to care for."
Morwen smiled again towards her children.
"I know you do not believe me," She murmured softly, "I see the doubt in your eyes. But, I also see the hope in your intended's"
Lyla visibly jerked at the word 'intended' the heat rising faster on her neck and ears.
The queen only laughed.
"You think me so obtuse to not recognize what is so plainly displayed before me?"
"I-er well…" Lyla could feel the heat on her cheeks now. Properly embarrassed was she. "He and I…we're. Well, as far as I know we are…"
She trailed off awkwardly.
Lyla had never really talked of this to anyone—Thorin included—and for this woman she hardly knew to merely guess…
'But you have to leave him. You will perish. It will destroy him. An errand of death and despair.'
"There's no hope," She could hear herself saying before she could stop herself, "At least not for me. I don't have a home, a true home, anyway. Nothing to hope for really. I'm just a hobbit. I'll be lucky if I even make it to Mordor."
Lyla balked at the notions that had spilled from her mouth.
Where had these thoughts come from?
Her cheeks flooded with more color as she realized that she'd said these words to someone she hardly knew as well.
"Now I can hardly believe that assumption," Morwen retorted, her slate colored eyes darkening, "Surely you are not so blind. Those dwarves at the very least care for you. Is that not something 'for you', as you say? And, I know personally that we are not merely one thing. I am not JUST a woman, or JUST a queen. I am Morwen, shieldmaiden of Rohan, warrior of Gondor, wife of a king, mother to my children, defender of my family. And you are certainly much more than just a hobbit."
"Indeed she is."
Lyla jumped as Gandalf's voice filtered through the air.
"Forgive me," the grey wizard remarked stepping into the nursery, "I merely have a bit of business to discuss with Lyla Baggins, your grace."
Morwen nodded her head and smiled at the wizard. "Of course, Mithrandir. I've probably kept her longer than I should. I'm certain several dwarves will be searching for her soon."
Gandalf chuckled lowly, "Indeed they will. Adamant that she fill her belly and get some rest." He winked at Lyla, "Never far off, those rabble rousers are. Now come, dear one, before we are interrupted."
Lyla rose hastily and made to follow after Gandalf
But not before Morwen tugged the hobbit into a light embrace.
"You are always welcome here, Lyla Baggins," she whispered in the hobbit's ear before gently pushing Lyla away.
The hobbit cast another glance towards the children, sent a smile back to Morwen and then hurried after Gandalf.
"I've been meaning to speak with you for quite some time now, Lyla Baggins," The wizard remarked as she scampered into the hall.
He stood, tall, leaning on his staff in a haphazard way, smiling towards the doorway of the nursery as she came out.
Lyla could see, however, that Gandalf's general attitude of light hearted merriment didn't quite reach his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
She didn't bother with niceties.
Gandalf nodded once.
"Walk with me."
Side by side the two slowly made their way down the long halls, occasionally passing by a few windows that cast long shadows against the walls as the night began to descend.
"How is your shoulder?" Gandalf queried, shooting Lyla a long glance.
At the mention of her bandaged arm, Lyla gently rubbed her shoulder, holding back the wince at the pain that shot through her still tender muscles.
"Better than it was," she conceded thoughtfully.
It wasn't a lie.
"Good," Gandalf murmured, "That's good. And how are you?"
Lyla understood the weight of the question the wizard asked.
"I'm alright," she remarked with a soft sigh. She felt remarkably vulnerable, if she were being honest. It seemed as though everyone could perceive her emotions.
And she didn't want that.
"It could always be worse I suppose."
Gandalf too sighed. "You feel it don't you? You feel the ring's power growing."
Lyla tried to block the low murmuring his in her mind as she nodded.
"I thought as much, for I feel it too. You must be careful Lyla Baggins. Evil will be drawn to you from outside the fellowship."
Gandalf stopped quite suddenly, eyes boring into Lyla's.
"And I fear from within as well. A darkness is coming. Very soon it will attempt to cover all the land."
It was the same warning that Glorfindel had given her.
And it frightened her.
"I am sorry that I brought this upon you, my dear," Gandalf suddenly murmured, his voice sounding tired, "I'm sorry that you must bear this burden."
The wizard was leaning on his staff again as he gazed, unseeing towards the wall.
"I'm sorry for everything. The company to reclaim Erebor exposed you to the ring. Had you not come…"
Lyla shook her head.
"You know, surely you know I don't blame you for any of this right? You couldn't have seen this happening. You couldn't have known."
"Yes, Lyla, I know that. I am aware of my limitations in foresight. But this is a burden you should have never had to bear. If you were only back in your home, you'd be safe from this whole mess."
Gandalf seemed older than Lyla had ever noticed before. Deep lines creased his brow and beneath his eyes, his grey hair hung limply beneath his tall, pointy hat.
"And had I not gone to see Saruman," He muttered to himself bitterly before sighing again and continuing forward.
"There are times, when I wish that the world of men and elves and dwarves were more like hobbits. Good food and cheer, no thought for power and greed and war."
He smiled at Lyla.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"I wish, very much, my dear hobbit, for you to see The Shire again. To go back to those green fields and quiet evenings with your tea kettle and the comforts of home."
The image of Bag End filled Lyla's mind and for a minute a crippling sense of longing filled her.
Her home.
Even if she didn't fit in there, there was still comfort to be found in her own little smial, in her familiar bed.
Crickets outside her window chirping.
The tea kittling singing.
The fire crackling.
The smell of fish and bread and vegetables steaming on a nice plate.
Her stacks of books and maps.
'Just put the ring on' the voice in the back of her mind whispered. 'I can take you home. I can protect you and your Shire. With the ring, you can live in peace forever.'
Lyla shook her head to immediately dispel the thought…
And the temptation.
No.
It was about more than the Shire.
"No Gandalf," she replied quite suddenly, Morwen's words echoing in her ears.
'You are more than just a hobbit.'
"There is no going back."
She smiled towards the wizard.
"You told me I would not be the same after my journey with Thorin and the company. And I'm not. And there is no going back. You cannot just pick up where you left off again after so long, after so many things have happened. Besides," she started to stroll a bit faster, down the hall, "What would you have me do? Go back home? Cower away from the responsibility of this quest? That's absurd. Would you have be go sideways? It's impossible" She winked at Gandalf, who had his brow raised in questioning.
"No Gandalf, I've come to realize that the only thing to do is push onward." She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, "No matter how difficult the road may be. I promised I would do this, Gandalf, and I think I must try. Don't you?"
"Indeed," Gandalf's voice was low, "Indeed, there is no going back, no matter how dearly we wish it."
And then Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling—as they had not done until then. "It will never cease to amaze me, the courage of hobbits. A truly peculiar race, indeed."
He placed a hand on her shoulder as they continued walking.
"Carry that luck and courage with you Lyla, for I fear you will need it too soon."
Lyla could see the hard look that crossed the wizard's features.
"We cannot carry on as we have done. It's been far too dangerous. Too many follow our pathway." He shot a furtive look towards Lyla.
They continued on in silence, though a thought hung in Lyla's mind, a thought that Gandalf hadn't said.
The fellowship was breaking.
"You cannot be serious."
Lyla's ears twitched as she recognized Thorin's voice ahead of her.
Silently she inched closer, noting the way his words resounded with fury and disbelief.
"Indeed I am." It was Glorfindel's voice this time, "The enemy will be moving shortly. You know that. Their eye will be fixed on Edoras. It is not safe for her to stay here."
"And just where do ye expect her to go then?" Dwalin hissed, "Out in the wilderness with naught but her cloak and wits?"
Lyla silently edged closer.
"We cannot leave right away," Aragorn agreed softly, "At the very least, we need supplies for our journey. She needs rest as well."
"You do not see, do you, Estel," Glorfindel's voice had lowered. "The fellowship is breaking. It has already begun. We cannot succeed as we are. There are too many of us."
"And just what are you saying?" Thorin interjected, "That we send her off on her own to Mordor? Abandon her?"
"No. That is not what I say. But it may be the only choice she has."
Lyla peeked her head through the doorway, and was surprised to catch Glorfindel's gaze locked on her.
He'd known she was there.
"I will not leave her." Thorin growled. "I made a promise. And I will not forsake that promise again. I cannot. I refuse."
"I understand master dwarf," The elf turned back towards Thorin, "Truly I do. But again, you may not have a choice."
A hand on Lyla's shoulder made the hobbit jump.
She bit back a cry of terror as she whirled around and gazed up into the face of Denethor.
The man from Gondor was watching her carefully, his eyes hooded.
"None of us should wander alone, skulking in the shadows, privy to the conversations of others," He muttered softly. "Shall I not escort you to your…friends?"
Lyla didn't miss the hesitantly in the man's words.
Or the unease that built in her heart as she gazed back towards the man.
Something felt…unusual about him.
"I am fine," She remarked, "Just heading towards the great hall as we speak."
The man's gaze had dropped to the rings that hung about her neck.
"It's such a strange thing," he noted softly, "Something so small, so seemingly simple, bearing so much power."
Lyla took a step back as the man's fingers twitched, his hand raising towards her.
'He will try to take the ring.'
Her movement seemed to startle the man, who blinked a few times, shaking his head, his eyes returning once again to the hobbit.
"Come," He remarked, "Let us to them, then."
They resumed their journey after two days.
Stocked with packs of food and bedding, the hobbit, her dwarves, the men, elves, and their wizard guide, made their way south.
"May the blessings of the horse lords speed your journey," the king had blessed, his hand resting lightly on Lyla's shoulder as he smiled down on her.
She could feel the weight on his hand, and the weight of the ring as she gazed into his face. Behind his smile was a tense understanding that his assistance would bring danger to his people.
Lyla was deeply grateful, but filled with a deep guilt as well.
"Aule help them." She murmured to herself as Edoras had slipped from view.
It was a few days later, when they reached the sloping, craggy hills once again, that Lyla's veins filled with dread.
Every day Legolas and Glorfindel would scout ahead, reporting back that there were small bands of orcs following their trail, a great distance away.
But every day, that distance was diminished, and Lyla knew it would only be a matter of time before the orcs reached their company.
"I would not worry," Aragorn had commented, "We will protect you. You will not be harmed."
"I appreciate the sentiment," She'd remarked, "But it is not me that I am concerned for."
The man nodded in understanding as her gaze had drifted towards Fili, Kili and the others.
Thorin.
Bofur.
Ori.
Dwalin.
She wanted them safe.
"I believe, master hobbit, that they would not have come on this journey without first understanding the risks. Just as you did. Do not carry the burden of what might be. Focus on the present. Enjoy their comfort and companionship while you can."
"Someday," she murmured, as her heart settled for the moment, "Someday you will make a great king."
"And you a queen."
The ranger winked at the blushing hobbit.
Eru was everyone privy to THAT knowledge?
Three days. They travelled through the cold, muddy banks of the Anduin.
Three days they scouted for orcs following them.
Three days they evaded.
Flanked by Dwalin, Thorin and Bofur, she should have felt safe.
Something nagged at her though. She felt as though eyes were constantly upon her.
A shadow seemed to follow her.
A threat was growing.
She could feel it.
Lyla found it hard to sleep, even long after Gandalf had closed his eyes. She saw Edoras, the golden haired children, the horses, all of them.
And she wondered what would befall them once the enemy marched.
For they WOULD march.
It was a certainty.
The fellowship was attracting too much attention.
Glorfindel's words were always at the forefront of her mind.
She knew time was running short. The only way they'd succeed, the only way Lyla stood a chance of entering Mordor, was alone.
She knew that. Every day she stood within the company, speaking quietly with Gandalf or Thorin or the others, she knew that she needed to leave.
It was when the first flashes of lightning sailed over head, on the morning she'd worked up the courage to finally leave the others, that her heart dropped and dread filled her veins.
Something was wrong.
There was a heaviness in the air as she had slipped from camp, from the confines of her snoring dwarvish companions.
Glorfindel had been on watch. He'd merely nodded toward her, a sadness shadowing his features.
He knew she was leaving.
And he did not stop her.
However, she was only a short distance from the camp when the air became almost suffocating, the dull hissing whisper in her mind growing into a roar that nearly drowned out all other noise around her.
"None of us should wander alone."
The familiar comment came to Lyla's ears and she turned towards Denethor as he followed a small distance behind her, picking a few twigs up, adding them to the bundle in his arms.
"You least of all."
Lyla wanted to tell him she wasn't wandering, that she was leaving.
"I am well, thank you."
Denethor's eyes narrowed slightly and he frowned down on the hobbit, taking a step closer.
"Lyla, I know you suffer. I see it day by day," The man of Gondor murmured, giving her a soft smile. "But are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? Orcs are following close behind us. This route is dangerous and I fear that it will lead to our ruin, to your ruin."
The man took another small step forward.
Lyla's feet twitched.
"But there are other paths, Lyla, other roads we might take. Safer routes for you, for me, for your friends."
The temptation was palpable.
Lyla swallowed.
"I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom," She whispered, "But for the warning in my heart."
Denethor straightened.
"Warning? Against what?"
He took another step forward.
Lyla stepped back.
The man's eyes flashed.
"We are all afraid Lyla. But, to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we might have…don't you see that this venture is madness?"
"You are not yourself," She murmured, "Please. Do not come closer."
The man's eyes narrowed to slits and he thrust his bundle of wood to the ground.
"I only asked for the strength to defend my people. Is that really such a selfish desire?" The man exhaled and schooled his features, as he regarded the hobbit.
"If you would but lend me the ring."
Lyla took another step back.
"No."
"Why do you recoil? I am no thief."
"You are not yourself," She hissed again, "I will not lend the ring. I must…I must go."
She shuffled backwards again.
But Denethor would have none of it.
He surged forward towards her.
"You mean to leave then?" The man snorted, "What chance do you think you have? One small hobbit against the entire evil of Middle Earth? It's absurd. They will find you," Denethor stepped closer, hissing at Lyla, "They will take the ring and you will beg for death before then end."
The man was upon her as Lyla tried, fruitlessly, to distance herself from the man from Gondor.
"Give it to me!" He exclaimed, grasping at her cloak, "Give it to me!"
"No!"
Denethor shook her, making her stumble backwards as he drew his sword.
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.'
The voice was humming loudly in her ears.
"You foolish creature, he snarled. It could have been mine! It should be mine. You, you stupid creature, come upon this trinket by some happy stroke of fortune. I will not let this weapon return to the enemy."
He charged towards Lyla who slipped backwards, rolling to the left as the man's sword met the ground where she had previously laid.
Lyla hastily drew her own sword in defense, her eyes wide.
This is not how she expected the morning to go at all.
She brought her sword up hastily to meet Denethor's angered face and the sharp edge of his sword descending up on her.
Metal crashed against metal, sending sparks outwards.
"Give me the ring! I seek only to aid Gondor. I seek to keep my people safe!"
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.'
He brought his sword down again, his swing more powerful than the last one.
Lyla's arms buckled and a sharp pain struck her arm as her shoulder slipped.
Her sword was hastily thrust from her hand as Denethor reached for her.
"Give me the ring."
Lyla's fingers closed around the chain around her throat, ripping the rings from off her neck as she shimmied away from Denethor's hard shove.
Her head cracked against the ground and Lyla bit back a groan as she hastily shoved Thorin's ring in her pocket and put the cool, heavy golden ring upon her finger.
The world became hazy, coated in a red fog, the hissing voice growing louder, making her arm spike with a familiar pain.
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.'
Ignoring the way her heart felt heavy, beating painfully against her chest, Lyla brought her elbow back and swung towards Denethor's jaw, as the man scrambled around trying to find her.
With a grunt the man of Gondor shifted to the side, just long enough for Lyla to scoot away further from him.
Her hands closed around her sword, feeling the familiar weight aginst her palm as she slowly crept away from Denthor.
"I see your mind!" The man raged, "You will take the ring to Sauron. You will betray us all!"
He stumbled to his feet slowly.
"Curse you! Curse you and all the halflings!"
Lyla brought her arm back once more and cracked the hilt of her sword against the man's skull, forcing him back down towards the ground, a now quietly groaning heap amongst the snow and branches he'd previously cast aside.
Hastily, Lyla sheathed her sword and retreated towards the trees, her hands shaking, head pounding.
'Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.'
"Lyla?" She heard the weak call behind her.
The hobbit shook her head and pushed thoughts of Denethor from her mind.
She had to get away, get away from it all.
"Lyla!"
Thorin had only been dozing when he heard it, the low horn in the distance.
A familiar horn call.
A wicked horn call.
He was on his feet immediately.
"Wake up!" He urged his nephews, Dwalin, Bofur, and Ori. "Wake up!"
His eyes skimmed their small refuge (a small cave hidden by trees) noting how Gandalf was already pacing, his eyes cast down, unseeing, as he muttered to himself.
Legolas and Glorfindel has their bows out, notching arrows into their bows as they skimmed the trees.
And then, the dwarf king's heart shuddered as realization hit him.
"Where's Lyla?" Kili asked as the question leapt to Thorin's mind as well.
His eyes darted around, searching for familiar, golden curls and he cursed himself for having fallen asleep.
Blast that hobbit!
The dwarf's eyes skimmed over their belongings, swords, bedrolls, axes, a shield.
Thorin froze.
A shield.
"No." He murmured.
Oh Mahal no.
Denethor, the man whose gaze was fixed on Lyla far more than Thorin appreciated, was missing.
Thorin was moving through towards the trees, his heart in his throat, fury rising in veins, coursing through his fingers.
He bit back a growl.
If that man so much as laid a finger on her…
A hand stopped him.
With an enraged snarl, Thorin whirled around, brandishing Orchrist, his eyes flashing at the offender who dared to stop him.
It was Gandalf.
"I know wehre it is you would go," He remarked, "But Aragorn has already gone after her."
Thorin narrowed his eyes.
"I will not leave her to wander alone out there!" He snarled in reply.
Another horn sounded, closer this time, as a small band of orc warriors broke through the tree line, their weapons at the ready, snarls escaping their twisted lips.
Thorin raised Orchrist higher, his fury still blazing.
The haze around her grew thicker, as she pushed through the trees, trying to move away from Denethor.
Her arm hissed in pain, protesting being placed under the influence of the ring.
Her mind echoed the sentiment of panic and worry as she climbed over rocks, upwards.
'The enemy will find you' the hissing voice taunted as she broke through the tree line. 'You cannot hide. I see you.'
And suddenly, the world seemed to shrink away.
She could feel the painful biting sting of flames, the sharp stab of fear lancing her as she stood, exposed before a great eye, wreathed in terrifying red flames, a soulless black orb piercing into her soul.
Dark laughter echoed around her and she squeezed her eyes shut in panic, stumbling backwards.
She had to get away.
Lyla wrenched the ring from her finger.
She landed with a grunt gazing up at the blue sky filtering through the trees.
"Lyla?"
With a gasp of panic, the hobbit was on her feet again, suspicion warring with rationality as she peered up into Aragorn's face.
The man, for his part, looked confused and worried as he stared back towards the hobbit.
"Are you alright."
Lyla shifted her feet and squared her shoulders. "It has taken Denethor."
Aragorn's eyes widened as he stepped closer. "Where is the ring?"
"Stay away!" Lyla's heart rattled against her bones as she scampered backwards.
Her palms were sweaty, moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"Don't you understand?" She cried, "I can't stay here. You cannot have the ring. No one. I must…I have to go!"
"Lyla!" Aragorn commanded softly, but firmly, setting his palms up in a sign of peace. "I swore to protect you."
Lyla laughed bitterly, the growing doubt wearing at her courage.
"So did Denethor," She muttered, leveling her gaze towards Aragorn, "But he has fallen. Now tell me, king of Gondor, can you protect me from yourself? Or, could you destroy it?"
She help her palm up, the ring resting in her hand, extended towards the ranger.
The man stepped forward, eyes drawn to the gold settled carefully in her palm. His hand reached forward, fingers curling towards her palm.
He closed her fingers around the ring, sealing her palm together, his hand resting atop hers.
"I will not forsake my oath," He murmured softly. "I will not betray you. Not this day."
"Givashel!"
Lyla jerked backwards in surprise as Thorin's call echoed through the trees.
Aragorn straightened, drawing his sword.
"You will have to run, Lyla Baggins," he commanded.
Branches snapped, snarling cries of black speech swirled through the air.
"Run!" Aragorn commanded again. "Run!"
With a snarl, the man brought his sword in front of him and charged past Lyla as orcs broke the tree line behind her.
Lyla's heart stopped as she gazed into the yellow eyes of a massive orc, its black, scaly skin marked with a large white hand, teeth bared.
"Grab the Halfling!" It snarled, "Get it!"
Lyla tore through the trees listening to Aragorn's grunts of exertion, the sizzle of metal crashing against metal.
She could hear more branches snapping, the heavy 'clomping' of boots and armor behind her.
"Givashel!"
Arms wrapped around her, tugging her backwards against a hard chest.
"You fool of a Took!" He snarled at her, "Come! We must go."
Thorin.
The dwarf gripped her hand tightly, his face pulled into a deep frown, hair whipping behind him as he dragged her forward, through the thicket of trees, away from the orcs.
"The others?" She exclaimed, "Are they…?"
"They are engaged at present." Thorin remarked lowly, "We must find a safe passage to get you out of here."
"Thorin," Lyla began, as a branch scraped her cheek.
"No." He remarked, shooting her a dark look. "Do not ask it of me."
The dwarf suddenly pulled backwards as an arrow sailed in front of him.
"This way," He demanded, tugging Lyla to the left.
Another arrow whirred in front of him.
The dwarf swore lowly and crouched lower, weaving through the trees.
Lyla could see them clearing, she could hear the cries of battle growing.
They were getting closer to the battle.
They were being herded towards the battle.
Thorin swore again as an orc charged through the thicket towards them.
"Sword!" he called towards her. "Do not drop it!"
Orchrist met the orc's axe as Thorin let out a roar of anger, thrusting his weight into the blow.
Another orc came up behind the first, it's long sword pointed towards Lyla.
'You will die.'
With an angered cry of her own, Sting was raised as Lyla ducked beneath the sword that sailed over head.
She rose swiftly and shoved her sword forward, connecting with the creature's belly.
With her good shoulder she shoved the sputtering orc backwards.
Thorin was there then, tugging on her arm.
"Come." He murmured harshly, "If they will it, then we must go. To the company."
The dwarf king pushed her through the clearing, towards the familiar cries of battle, and the familiar cries of battlers.
Dwalin was snarling as he punched at an orc's face, his knuckle duster cutting deeply into the soft flesh of the orcs cheek and nose, as his axe rammed into the orc's shoulder.
"There!" Ori cried, pointing towards Thorin and Lyla.
The company had been pushed into a small crevice or rock, high walls on either side of them as they fought the oncoming barrage of orc filth.
The narrow passage allowed for fewer orcs to attack, which gave her friends a slight advantage.
She noted that Glorfindel, Kili and Legolas were all perched up higher, firing their arrows into the onslaught.
The others stayed well on the ground, axes, swords and staff in hand as they fought
Gandalf caught Lyla's gaze, his eyes flashing with worry.
Something was wrong.
"Thorin, get her out of here!" He called towards the dwarf king, "You must go. Now. Retreat!"
Thorin, though, was being attacked as well, his sword was level with his eyes as he charged another orc who came too close.
Three others were behind that.
Lyla picked up a rock and hurled it towards the three charging towards Thorin.
One dropped.
The hobbit hastily grabbed another rock and lobbed the heavy object, again, towards the orcs charing Thorin.
Another orc fell.
But then a large, terrifying orc stepped forward, bow notched, a look of complete, malicious victory on his face as he raised his black arrow towards the hobbit.
Lyla had her own sword ready, swallowing back the bile that threatened to reach her lips as she met the malicious grin of the orc.
But then…
Something unusual happened.
Gandalf had stopped moving quite suddenly, his form going rigid even as the world grew heavy around them, the air thick with moisture as dark, black clouds billowed in the air.
She heard a low growl.
And the orcs started to back away, dropping their weapons as they fled for the trees, the orc that had planned to attack her widening its eyes and slowly edging backwards.
Another low growl.
The snapping of branches.
Heavy, earth-shaking footfalls.
"This enemy is ancient." Gandalf voice was soft, his eyes closed as he leaned on his staff heavily, his sword hanging limply at his side. "Its power if beyond any of us."
Suddenly the wizard straightened and met Lyla's eyes once more.
"Run!" He commanded, hastily moving further into the craggy, canyon.
Lyla didn't hesitate as the others pressed after Gandalf.
Thorin's hand was on her back, guiding her towards Glorfindel and Kili who made up the rear of the group.
Her thoughts briefly turned towards Aragorn.
And Denethor.
She cast a glance backwards.
And immediately regretted her decision.
Crashing through the trees came a large, back beast, dark shadowy horns atop its ghastly head. Flames billow from its nostrils.
And in its hand was a long whip, encased in bright orange fire, hissing through the air as the beast snapped the weapon upwards.
"Go!" Thorin demanded pushing her harder. "Go!"
The footfalls grew closer, faster. Pebbles showered them as they maneuvered through the narrowing passage, up the steep incline, towards higher ground.
Thorin gave Lyla another hard shove and then Gandalf was tugging her upwards as well.
"Go on," He commanded, "You must make your leave. I will distract them."
The wizard pulled Thorin ahead as well.
Something dangerous lay within Gandalf's gaze.
It set Lyla's heart ill at ease.
"No, I can't."
'They will all die because of you. None can escape me'
Gandalf shoved her again. "Do as I say ring bearer!" he commanded, "Swords are no more use here. You will make for Mordor! Go!"
Thorin was pushing her this time, as Gandalf turned around to face the beast.
Lyla caught another glimpse of the great beast's head as it clawed its way through the canyon, towards her.
Dark, black clouds billowed overhead, blotting out the sunlight, casting the world into long, dark shadows.
"You cannot pass!" The wizard declared, setting his staff straight as he peered towards the beast.
Lyla's heart leapt.
"Gandalf!" She cried in panic.
No.
Eru help her, please no.
The creature straightened its own stance, towering well above the incline, where both Thorin and Lyla stood transfixed, starting between the grey wizard and the black, billowing beast.
The creature raised its whip again, the weapon cracking through the air like lightening.
"I am servant of the secret fire. Wielder of the flame of Anor! You cannot pass! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"
"A brilliant ball of light cascaded from Gandalf's staff, encasing the wizard in a white glow.
Lyla winced and leaned backwards, Thorin trying to tug her back again.
"Come!" He commanded.
"Go back to the shadows!" Gandalf admonished towards the creature as it stepped closer.
In the back of her mind, Lyla could hear the cries of the company members, the cries of orcs as they descended again on her friends.
But her eyes were transfixed on the wizard.
And the terrifying creature that took another step.
"YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS!"
Gandalf brought his staff downward, the wood clanging loudly against the slate rock beneath his feet. A burst of light shot from the top of the staff, temporarily blinding Lyla.
And then she heard it.
A deep rumble.
She felt the vibrations growing stronger, the ground beginning to shake.
Stone started to crumble around them, cracks and fissures growing, on the walls on either side of them.
"Lyla!" Thorin's voice was harsh, demanding, "Move!" He pulled her backwards as rocks started to fall about them.
"Gandalf!" the hobbit cried as the ground started to fall away, the black beast struggling to keep his footing as a chasm opened around its feet.
The wizard did not look back.
"Fly you fools!" he hissed.
"Lyla!"
A snarl ripped the hobbit's attention away from the wizard as Thorin forcefully shoved Lyla to the ground, a large black warg leaping towards the dwarf, knocking the king backwards away from Lyla.
And towards Gandalf.
Lyla's heart stopped.
No.
"Thorin!"
Another large rock fell as the hobbit lost sight of the wizard and the dwarf.
"Gandalf! Thorin!"
She scrambled to her feet.
But someone else was there.
"NO lass! Don't do it."
"No!" She cried, "No! Thorin! Gandalf! The walls continued to crumble, shaking up dust and burying the canyon they'd travelled through.
"Lass move, ye've got to move!"
It was Bofur, arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her upwards and to the side, away from the collapsing canyon.
And away from the battle.
"Thorin! Gandalf! We have to go back Bofur! We cannot just—Do not ask me to!"
"I am sorry lass."
The hatted dwarf covered her mouth as he pulled her into the small thicket of trees, down another steep slope and out of sight from the battle, from the rest of the company, from the orcs.
And from the pile of rubble that had taken Thorin and Gandalf.
END OF PART I